on the dot
by oceayen
Summary: Every morning, Death Boy walks in the coffee shop where Will Solace works. Seven o'clock, on the dot.


**A/N:** First time writing for this pairing. It's so short, I'm sorry. I still haven't achieved a firm grasp of their characters, so I'm not writing anything heavier until I do. I hope it's fine, though. This was written and proofread very quickly (I'm positively sure that there was this part I wanted to change last night, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was), so I'm pretty sure I didn't do a thorough job. But! Coffee Shop AU, anyone?

Lou Ellen and Cecil always referred to him as _The Mysterious Stranger_, complete with sheer corniness and capitalized first letters and all that, but privately, Will thought of him as _Death Boy_.

It couldn't be helped. Maybe if he wore anything other than black and skull rings, maybe if he got his hair cut and his skin tanned, maybe, that wouldn't be the case. But Will didn't want him to ditch the black clothing and the skull rings, nor did he want him to get his hair cut or his skin tanned, because Death Boy was perfect the way he was and Will was in love with him.

God. He was turning Will into a ball of sap. And Will found that he didn't mind it, much. Now, if only he could actually _say_ his declarations of love and sappiness. He couldn't.

Like, he didn't even know the guy's _name_.

He was in love with a guy whose name he didn't even know. Things were looking _great_ for him.

Will sighed and tried not to glance at the clock. He busied himself with arranging the plastic cups and the coffee machine and the tip jar and just whatever he could get his hands on, really. Where was Lou Ellen and her endless stream of chatter (and corny magic tricks) when you needed her? In the end, as was inevitable, he found his gaze straying towards the clock.

**6:58.**

**6:59.**

**7:00.**

Will frowned.

**7:01.**

Opening hour was six in the morning which, in Will's opinion, was brutal. Customers trickled in slowly until eight, which was when the morning rush started. Death Boy usually came in at seven, on the dot. He couldn't, for the life of him, recall an instance where the object of his fascination was late.

**7:02.**

Will was surprised—sort of, except not really—to find that his stomach was tight with worry. It was idiotic, but at the same time it wasn't, because as a med student he understood more than most people that accidents could happen anywhere to anyone, at anytime.

He was _so_ in too deep.

Okay, there was a reservoir of logical reasons: Maybe his alarm clock had failed him, or maybe there was traffic, or maybe there was some urgent business he needed to take care of, or whatever. Really, there were a lot of possible explanations and he was most likely stressing himself out over nothing. The guy wasn't obligated to come here. Not like Will wanted him to feel obligated; he wanted him to come here because he wanted to, not because of a sense of obligation.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he _didn't_ want to come anymore.

Will swallowed, feeling rocks settle at the bottom of his stomach. He was pretty sure baristas weren't supposed to feel this sad just because some nameless stranger didn't show up.

**7:05.**

Is this what it felt like to be stood up? Will wouldn't know. He had never been stood up before. What he did know, however, was that he was being entirely stupid and irrational about this whole thing (for God's sake, he was feeling _stood up!_) and that he should probably drop everything and run. Or, like, move on, at the very least.

But he couldn't, because frankly, he couldn't even _imagine_ what his daily morning shifts would be like if Death Boy wasn't there, even if he took up thirty minutes at most. He hadn't realized that how reliant he had grown to the stranger's presence, and it was _very_, which that was pretty sad. He kind of wanted to switch to stalker mode, track the guy down, and confess his love. Or at least wallow in self-pity. And Will Solace did not wallow in self-pity.

The thing was, charisma came naturally to him, along with assurance and all that. If he liked someone, he had no problem telling them. Unlike other people, he usually wasn't nervous when it came to asking someone out. There was the constant fear of rejection, but he found that it was always overpowered by his confidence and, in the end, it was easy to recover from the sting of said rejection if it _was_ administered, which honestly happened rarely. Apparently, it was something he inherited from his constantly absent father.

But what he felt for Death Boy was different. Here he was, a reasonably attractive guy with healthy self-esteem, who had lots of experience when it came to asking people out, and he couldn't even find the courage to utter a simple, "What's your name?" It was like he was actually _afraid_ of rejection—_really_ afraid this time—except he wasn't. Never had he met anyone he liked enough before to continue pursuing even after getting rejected, but he knew that that was what he would do if Death Boy said no. He wouldn't give up, no, he would ask every day, which would be pretty annoying, but Will was nothing if not determined. (Erm, stubborn.) It wasn't the possibility of rejection that was stopping him, exactly.

It was what might happen after. Every inch of Death Boy felt _ephemeral_, from the tips of his unkempt dark hair to the ends of his shoelaces. Stare at him for too long and he would disappear. Scare him and he would dissolve into thin air, never to be found again. And Will didn't want that, no. He wanted to be able to find Death Boy every day, preferably entering the coffee shop at seven on the dot, and more.

Death Boy was an enigma, and Will didn't know anything about him except that he always paid in cash and that he liked his coffee black (how fitting). Will often found himself wondering who exactly was this dark, mysterious, and very, very cute stranger and what did he do? How old was he? Did he play video games? What was his favorite breakfast cereal? Coke or Pepsi? Books or movies? Earphones or headphones? What made him smile? He wanted to know everything. Even the smallest bits of information.

God. He just didn't know when to stop. One of these days, he was going to crash.

**7:37.**

The sound of the door chime.

Will looked up to greet the seventh customer of the day, a bright smile falling naturally on his lips, and nearly did a double take, because who else was walking in but Death Boy himself.

Well, him and the pretty girl next to him. She had flawless coffee bean brown skin and dark hair that hung in tight curls, barely grazing the tips of her shoulders. Will noted the ease with which the two regarded each other, and how something she said brought a smile to his face. He watched, transfixed by the very first smile that he had ever seen on the stranger's lips.

He had a beautiful smile. Will couldn't help but wish that it had been directed at him instead.

(But really; he could have sworn that Death Boy was gay. Those pants were _tight_.)

When they finally arrived in front of the counter, Will found that he couldn't quite smile as widely as before. At least he wasn't _shaking_, though it was terrifyingly close.

Stupid. _Stupid._

"Good morning and welcome to Apollo's. May I take your order?"

"I'll have one cup of hot chocolate," quipped the girl before Death Boy could open his mouth. Reflexively, Will turned to look at her. She was already looking at him, eyes narrowed with scrutiny. His heart rate sped up even more. Shit—was he really that obvious, and was he about to incur the _Wrath of the Girlfriend?_

Then he blinked and she was turned towards Death Boy, her hand on his shoulder, and coils of jealousy twined around Will's heart. It took all his willpower to keep it beneath the surface. He wonders if he had imagined her looking at him. Probably not. "I'm going to sit," she said before walking away, but not before shooting Will another glance. Yep, definitely did not imagine it.

Taking a deep breath, Will shifted his attention back on Death Boy, who was in the process of pulling out his wallet. Before he knew it, his mouth was opening—and he just had to _say something_.

"You're late."

Death Boy looked up. "...Excuse me?"

"Well, you usually get here at seven." Will coughed, feeling the tips of his ears burn quite uncharacteristically and oh, did he just basically admit that he kept track? Lame.

"Oh." Death Boy raised his brows. The wallet seemed forgotten for the meantime. "Hazel was visiting. We got sidetracked."

_Sidetracked._ There it was again. That annoying rush of jealousy in his veins.

Then, as casually as he could, because he had gotten this far and what difference would digging his grave a little deeper make anyway, "Your girlfriend?"

Death Boy's resulting expression was like a little ray of sunshine peeking through stratus clouds. The disgust on his features became a beacon of hope. (Will was pretty sure that wasn't what you wrote in poetry, but whatever.) His tongue suddenly felt dry with anticipation, renewed hope practically flooding him. "_Styx,_ no. She's my half-sister." There was a hesitant pause, before he shrugged it away and added, "And I'm gay."

Was that a choir of angels singing hallelujah to the high heavens? Will could barely hear anything over the sound of his relief, and there wasn't even a sound—but he felt like he was _flying_. He wanted to jump, to dance, or at least do a fist pump, but that would probably end up scaring Death Boy so he settled for a huge megawatt smile that probably gave him away, but it was necessary because he felt like if he didn't show his happiness in some way he would spontaneously _combust_, which would suck because he just finally managed to speak to the stranger who had haunted his thoughts for the past few months.

"Cool." _Please come back tomorrow._ "You ordering your regular?"

Death Boy blinked. Then he nodded, before squinting at the name tag on Will's uniform and saying, "Yeah, um... Will."

Okay, if there had been the slightest chance of him _ever_ containing his grin before, it was gone now.

"Sure, Death Boy. One black coffee and one hot chocolate coming right up!" he said cheerfully as he turned a hundred and eighty degrees to work on the drinks.

"Death Boy?"

Oops. That one slipped.

"I had no idea who you were," he admitted sheepishly. He probably shouldn't be talking to someone while making beverages, but, he reasoned, he could make coffee with his eyes closed. "I started calling you Death Boy in my head."

"Do _not_ call me Death Boy!"

Grinning, he placed the mugs on a tray and set it on the counter. Death Boy's fingers found the edges of the tray and their hands brushed, briefly. "Fine, what should I call you, then?"

_Also, you're cute when you're mad. I'm sorry._

"Nico di Angelo."

Their eyes met, and the butterflies in Will's stomach turned into pterodactyls high on dopamine. "_Nico_ it is. I'm Will Solace."

He tested the name on his tongue—how it weighed, how it felt, how it rolled off.

"Yeah, whatever," Nico—oh God, that was his name—mumbled, breaking eye contact. He looked at his scuffed Converses and picked up the tray. "...Solace."

Will's eyes followed Nico's short path from the counter to the table. Hazel—he had completely forgotten about her—looked up and met his gaze with a knowing one of her own, before showing Nico something on her phone.

The chime he associated with the door opening echoed in the room, and Will turned to entertain the new customer.

_Nico di Angelo, you better not bail on me tomorrow._

The next day, Nico arrived on time and ordered the usual. Will brought up the way Nico had used the word _Styx_ the day before. Nico shot him a surprised glance and said, "You know about that?"

Will rolled his eyes. "Nico," he could say that name all day, "I work in a place called _Apollo's_. Pretty much every employee here is a nerd when it comes to Greek mythology."

Then they had a short conversation about how they discovered mythology, which led to _Mythomagic_, which led to a geeky argument about which was the best card, and Will's insides were warm because Nico was _really_ cute when he got all passionate about something—but alas, coffee (now take-out) took very little time to make and Nico was out the door after getting his order, like usual.

Will found that he missed him already.

Then the day after that, Nico walked in at 6:59 on the dot and ordered the usual, only after receiving his daily take-out plastic cup filled with coffee, he made a beeline for one of the tables. Will proceeded to stare. There was a faint, flustered tinge on Nico's features as he snapped out an annoyed, "What?"

Will only smiled.


End file.
